


Anyway, Here's 'Wonderwall'

by Morbid_Hatter



Category: Marvel Cinematic Universe, The Avengers (Marvel Movies)
Genre: Alternate Universe - College/University, Bucky Barnes Needs a Hug, Clint Barton Needs a Hug, M/M, Mutual Pining, WinterHawk Big Bang, everyone just needs to use their words, get-together
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-12-11
Updated: 2018-02-05
Packaged: 2019-02-13 08:19:14
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 4
Words: 10,264
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12979962
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Morbid_Hatter/pseuds/Morbid_Hatter
Summary: Bucky has a crush on Clint. Clint has a crush on Bucky. These two facts are known to everyone except each other. It's sad, really. But when Clint see's a chance to spend time with Bucky, he takes it - even if it means he has to teach him to play guitar to impress whoever it was that caught his eye....There are many things that I would like to say to you but I don't know how...





	1. Chapter 1

-1-

There were some days when Bucky wondered how he had gotten to this point: in his underwear struggling to switch between a G chord and an E chord while sitting lotus-style on his narrow bed. If he thought back far enough, he was sure it could all be linked back to the day he acquired one Steven Grant Rogers for a best friend. When they had met, Steve had been a scrawny brat with a big heart and an even bigger mouth. Now, he was big enough to get himself out of the fights he got into and didn’t need Bucky to jump in and help anymore, but Bucky was rather attached to the son of a bitch now, there was no way to get out of it after a decade of friendship.

He cursed his fingers for slipping along the frets just as he had finally managed to get his fingers in the right place. The thicker strings made him feel like the tips of his fingers were being filed off with sandpaper, and the wire-like skinny strings were most definitely trying to slice his fingers to ribbons because he kept messing up. The guitar was out to get him, he was sure of it. “This sucks,” he complained with a frown. His guitar rested against his leg accusingly, as if it were angry that Bucky was just _so bad_. “Maybe I need lessons.”

“Lessons with what, Grumpy Cat?” a voice asked just before he could hear something fall to the floor with a clatter. “Aw, phone, no.”

_Clint. Of course, it’s Clint here to witness my total embarrassment,_ he grouched internally, hoping his face wasn’t making its usual Resting Bitch Face (trademark pending) because he wasn’t actually upset that Clint was in his dorm room.

Clint stumbled through the open bathroom door that connected Clint and Sam’s room to Bucky and Steve’s with a childish pout as he tripped over a stack of Art History books Steve had left on the floor. “I heard you rage quit through the wall. What’s up?”

Bucky squeezed his eyes shut and tried to will away his attraction. It wasn’t fair that Clint literally checked off all the boxes on Bucky’s list of physical traits he found attractive, but he was also probably one of the most genuinely nice guys he had ever met. And to top it all off, Clint had absolutely no clue that he was a walking wet dream – one who happened to be in about two steps away from losing his pants. “My Physical Therapist wants me to learn how to play guitar to help my fine motor skills in my hand,” he said with a heavy sigh. “The motorcycle accident really messed it all up.” It wasn’t the only reason, but Clint didn’t have to know exactly why he had chosen the guitar out of all the options his therapist had given him.

It wasn’t like he was uncomfortable with his body, even after the addition of several scars going along the length of his arm; but he was a little self-conscious around Clint even though the blond hadn’t ever treated him any different (unlike the other blond in his life, Mr. I-Mother-Hen-All-My-Friends-to-the-Extreme-Especially-Bucky, who couldn’t leave well enough alone on a good day), he didn’t want to look vulnerable in front of him. He couldn’t bear the thought of the regular treatment changing because of some visible scarring or weak hands.

Clint nodded and seemed to collapse onto the floor in a graceful heap. He made grabby hands towards the guitar still resting on Bucky’s lap.

Het felt his ears burn with mild embarrassment when he realized quite belatedly that he was mostly naked and that the guitar was providing him with more cover than his boxer-briefs would. Clint didn’t seem to care and didn’t seem to think there was anything wrong with walking around their dormitory in some level of undress. Now, for example, Bucky was graced with the image of Clint in a thin purple tank top that showed of his seriously unfair biceps and some basketball shorts sans any undergarments. He cursed his observational skills – he really didn’t want the knowledge that Clint was currently free balling. _Fuck me sideways._

“Can I see it?” Clint asked, still making grabby hands. Bucky mutely handed it over, shocked when Clint wrapped his fingers (those fingers!) around the neck of the guitar and started playing the solo in _Mr. Crowley_ from memory. “This has a nice sound. Where did you get it?”

“My sister Becca wanted to learn a few years ago and never kept up with it so she’s letting me borrow it.” He trailed off and got distracted by Clint’s ease and confidence in switching between Ozzy Osbourne and Taylor Swift. “Really? _Mine_?”

Clint looked up from the fret board and kept playing with a grin. “Don’t hate on T-Swizzle, man. You know, you should come out to SHIELD and watch me jam on a piano. I do all the classics. I’m like the Duke Silver of the piano.”

Bucky choked on a breath as the image of Clint gently caressing the keys, crooning out some sultry tune that invaded his mind without his permission. It was too easy to imagine and he was half-way tempted to agree just to watch Clint play. But he knew he had his limits with how much of Clint he could take – it was just shy of torture to look but not touch – he didn’t know how much more he could take before he snapped and did something that could ruin their friendship forever. Bucky had decided not long after meeting Clint that he wasn’t willing to lose their friendship over his feelings, especially when said feelings weren’t returned.

His negative answer must have shown on his face before he opened his mouth. Clint’s shoulders dropped and his wide smile lost some of its brilliance. Oh, Clint was good at hiding his feelings when he really wanted to; but Bucky was well-versed in all things Clint Barton, especially those little things that everyone else (except maybe Natasha) seemed to miss. In that moment, he knew he would do anything to bring the smile back to Clint’s eyes, even if it meant sitting there being jealous of a piano. “I guess I can go,” he said before bumping Clint with his leg, “if you do me a favor.”

Clint perked up and switched songs to something Bucky didn’t recognize while keeping his eyes glued on Bucky’s face. “Sure!” Clint agreed easily, “what do you need?”

“Teach me to play?” he asked his knees, suddenly unable to keep eye contact with those stupidly pretty, multi-colored eyes.

“Totally!”

Bucky immediately felt like a jerk for taking advantage of Clint’s helping nature. He really didn’t care if he learned to play or not, if he couldn’t manage the guitar, his therapist would find something else to help his hand; but he couldn’t help take any time with Clint that he could – no matter how much it may hurt.

 

\-----

Clint wasn’t out of Bucky’s room for more than a minute before he replayed the interaction in his head again and realized what a goob he was. Clint thumped his head against the wall a few times, and cursed himself and his stupid crush on Steve’s stupid best friend. He cursed Bucky for being super cool, and nice, and sweet, and tough, and strong, and absolutely everything he could ever want in a partner but could never get. It all meant that he could never act like a normal human being around Barnes, just a massive train wreck masquerading as a functioning member of society.

And now? Now he practically begged Bucky to go to SHIELD and watch him play. _Peacocking much, Barton?_ And he agreed to teach him to play?

There was something seriously, _seriously_ wrong with him. It was masochism, it had to be; there was no other explanation to the level of hurt he chose to inflict on himself.

With his forehead still resting against the wall he pulled his phone out of his pocket and thanked his lucky stars that it hadn’t broke (again) when it fell out of his hand (again) and fell face first onto the hard floor (again).

_so I may have made a giant mistake and I would love you forever if you’d help me_

Clint cringed at the text even as he sent it to Natasha. It was worth a little criticism and judgement if he could get Nat to help him. She wouldn’t make him feel better; actually, there was a good chance that she would make him feel _worse_ but she would still help him at least make the best of the situation.

_Did you walk in on Barnes in his underwear again?_ She replied back after several silent minutes. He knew she was just trying to make him sweat – she was good at that.

_That’s not the point_. Clint replied, his cheeks heating up with a blush. It may have been part of the reason he had shown off with Bucky’s guitar, but it wasn’t why he had agreed to help him. Well, maybe twelve percent of the reason. Regardless, he was in trouble.

He waited around on her to text back for longer than he should have. She would have been just getting to her contemporary ballet class and she wouldn’t be able to get back to him until just an hour before they would need to leave to get to SHIELD in time.

Clint whined and slumped to the floor, rolled around until his back was resting against the cold tiles and he could bury his face in his arms. He pouted for a reasonable amount of time for a real person (it couldn’t have been more than fifteen minutes of misery and wallowing which was way better than normal wallowing times) before he eyed his phone warily, hoping that it would light up.

A knock on the bathroom door distracted him from his funk. “Yeah?” he called without getting up from his position on the floor. It wasn’t like he had any dignity left to ruin.

The door opened and Bucky stood in the doorway with a hand in his messy hair like he had been running his stupidly distracting fingers through it. Clint cursed himself for being jealous of Bucky’s fingers – _he_ wanted to run his fingers through all that pretty hair, dammit. “What’s up, buttercup?” he asked instead of continuing to mentally degrade himself for his stupid, unrequited crush on Bucky.

“I just wanted to make sure you play tonight. Steve asked me if I wanted to go out and I want to make sure I had the right night.”

“Yeah, it’s tonight. I’m leaving in a couple hours so I can get set up but you don’t have to be there until around 8. But you don’t have to go tonight,” he added in a hurry, “I play every week. It’s not a big deal if you don’t want to come tonight,” he said even as he felt his heart constrict painfully in his chest. Steve, of course, he would want to spend time with Steve. Hell, Clint liked spending time with Steve. If given the choice between Clint and Steve, anyone with any sense would choose Steve. And Bucky? Bucky had a lot of sense.

Steve was everything that Clint was not. It hurt, but it was the truth; and Clint had been spending the better part of three years accepting that about himself.

“I said I’d come, didn’t I?” Bucky asked with a frown.

_Great. Make him mad. Way to go, dummy_. Clint felt himself frown and quickly forced his mouth in the other direction. He was good at hiding what was going on in his head. “I mean, if you’d rather go out with Steve tonight, I have other nights. I’m free a lot during the off season.” He didn’t want Bucky to think that he _had_ to go out tonight; that there was no other option. It was true that while he wasn’t competing or training to compete, archery left him a lot of down time. As long has he could get an hour or so of practice in every day, he would be good. And heck, he wasn’t blind; he saw the way Bucky looked at Steve.

It was okay. Everyone with a pulse could see how amazing Steve was. It just hurt a little. But he was working on getting over it. He was!

“I’m coming out. I can hang out with both of you, you know. I think Steve’ll be thrilled that I’m voluntarily being _social_ ,” he said with a wry grin. He said the word ‘social’ like some people swore; like it was something dirty and crude. “We’ll see you over there around 8.”

Clint found himself smiling for real. Even if he wouldn’t get to flirt with Bucky, and he would have to watch him make heart-eyes at Steve while he could do nothing about it, he was still glad that Bucky wanted to come out and watch him play. “Sounds good, man.”

Bucky threw up a hand in a salute before he closed the door and went back to his own room. “Shit,” he complained. “What am I supposed to play now?” he asked the tiled ceiling. Normally he would play sappy love songs that sounded awesome on the piano; but he didn’t think he could get away with that if Bucky would be in the audience. He’d give away his massive crush in half a second, and he couldn’t risk that. “Screw it,” he said through clenched teeth. He would play what he always did, and with the same kind of showmanship that only came to the surface when he was in front of a crowd, regardless of who may or may not be there.

_But what will I wear?_


	2. Chapter 2

-2-

Bucky felt like he was going to pass out. There weren’t any more people at SHIELD than he was expecting, but he felt claustrophobic anyway – like he couldn’t breathe or move or even think. But it wasn’t because of the people or the noise or any reason other than one man who was doing indecent things to the keyboard on the small stage not fifteen feet away from him.

Steve, the jackass that he was, ganged up on him with the help of Wilson, Stark, and Lang (if Lang saw his ridiculous crush then he was doomed) and made him sit as close to the stage as possible. He hated them all.

He was almost positive that the blush on his face was going to make him catch fire while he watched Clint’s nimble fingers move across the keys with the same stunning accuracy he usually only showed when he had a bow in his hands. It was simply unfair.

Currently Clint was singing _Unsteady_ with a wistful, faraway look in his eyes; like the song was hitting a little closer to home than he thought it would. If he listened hard enough, he could actually hear the slight warble in Clint’s voice when he got to the second verse, like he was trying not to let his emotions get the best of him and he was losing.

Even with the hitch in his voice, Clint nailed the song from start to finish and dropped his hands to his side after the last note stopped ringing. “Hey guys, I’m gonna take a quick 10-minute break,” he told the crowd and hurried out the side door to the smoke deck.

“I’m gonna go check on him,” Bucky said to Steve who looked worried about the blond who dashed away like he was going to break but didn’t want anyone to see him do it.

He found Clint right away, even though he was curled up with his knees under his chin and his back against the wall to make himself as small as possible. It was impressive considering he was 6’3” and towered over Bucky no matter how much he slouched to make himself seem less imposing. “What’s the story, Morning Glory?” he asked, standing close enough to Clint to offer comfort without being too in to his personal space in case he wasn’t in the mood for physical contact.

Clint lit a cigarette, the lighter shaking in his normally steady hands. “I don’t know, man. Maybe that was the wrong song to pick. I usually don’t let shit like that get to me, but it just reminded me of my parents and then I realized I haven’t even thought about my mom in god knows how long, and then that made me feel like a terrible person and a terrible son, and then- “

“Hey, relax, Clint. You’re speaking in run-on sentences and you’re going to hyperventilate if you’re not careful,” Bucky said, trying to sound as soothing as possible. He sat down on the wooden deck across from Clint, careful not to touch him until he was sure it was welcomed. “Breathe with me.” He took deep, exaggerated breaths until Clint started to copy him and he was able to start relaxing.

Clint’s fingers stopped shaking and he took a deep drag off his cigarette and exhaled slowly into the night air. “Thanks, Buck. I really hate when that happens.”

Bucky stayed silent for a few minutes while he watched Clint smoke and thought back on the last few years. He had met Clint at the LGBT group meeting during the first week of Freshman year, so they had known each other all through school; but in all that time Bucky couldn’t remember Clint ever suffering from panic attacks or anxiety of any kind (outside of finals when he would study so much he wouldn’t sleep or eat but that was par for the course of being a college student). “You gonna be okay to go back out there?”

Clint shrugged. “I’m being paid for the two hours, I may as well do it. Any suggestions? Maybe something more upbeat?”

“I dunno. What songs do you know?” he asked, a faint blush appearing across the bridge of his nose and the tips of his ears. It was too easy to picture Clint playing something sultry and seductive, singing into the mic while running those ridiculous and amazing fingers across the keys.

Clint stayed silent for a long moment while he finished his cigarette and tapped out an offbeat rhythm on his knee. “I have an idea,” he said into the cool air. “I’ll have to fudge the keyboard part a bit, but I bet I could do it. I should have brought my guitar too.”

Bucky bit back a groan. It had been hard enough to sit around and watch Clint play the guitar for the handful of minutes that he had picked at Bucky’s borrowed guitar. Watching him strum a guitar for the rest of his set would be straight up torture. He wasn’t even sure if he could handle learning how to play from him.

“Can I ask you something?” Clint asked after he carelessly tossed the cigarette butt into the can off to their left. “Why do you really want to learn the guitar?”

He wouldn’t admit on promise of torture, but he almost choked on his tongue. He thought he had been pretty believable when he said that he wanted to learn for physical therapy – it was the truth, after all. It just wasn’t the whole truth.

He ran his good hand through his long hair and tugged at the ends, trying to stall for time. “Promise not to make fun of me?” Clint nodded quickly, his eyes wide and earnest, pleading with Bucky to tell him. He figured he could get away with telling the truth, as long as he could keep his cool and not blurt out his embarrassing crush and ruining everything. “I – uh- I may kinda have this thing for someone. And, well, I thought it would be a good way to get them to notice me?” he said it like a question and cursed his awkwardness.

Clint made a face halfway between embarrassed and pitying and maybe a little sad. “Well, I know what you’re going to learn first. I’m gonna teach you _Wonderwall_ and when you’re confident we’ll invite them here and you can crash my set and play for them.” He stood up and dusted off his dark jeans and was pointedly not making eye contact with Bucky. “But you’ve gotta say ‘Anyway, here’s _Wonderwall_ ’ when you do it.”

Bucky figured Clint was poking fun at him, but also thought it would be clever to take his idea and turn around and actually use it on Clint. It would either work perfectly or blow up in his face. Either way: fun times for all.

\-----

Clint led the way back into the bar and waved at the table before he headed back to the keyboard. He made an effort not to look too closely at what was going on at the table while he sang through The Cure’s _Friday I’m in Love_ and switched over to _Protégé Moi_ just so he could show off a little. When people learned that he was a farm boy from Iowa turned traveling circus performer before he graduated high school, they never gave him a lot of credit, and he loved stomping all over their ideals. He effortless switched between French in the verses and English during the chorus and felt a small smile twist at the corner of his mouth when only his table of friends didn’t react to his bilingual song.

But it made him feel better, and right now, he seriously needed a boost.

He tried not to think about Bucky and his stupid crush. There was no way he could teach him to play when he knew Bucky wanted to impress someone with it. Hey, it wasn’t a bad plan; it hadn’t worked for Clint so well, but maybe Bucky would have better luck. It was just going to be really hard to watch him try to woo the star-spangled socks off Steve Rogers. If the dummy couldn’t see that his best friend was ass over teakettle for his stupid perfect face then there was no hope for anyone ever.

Clint lost himself in the music and let himself forget that he was helping the literal man of his dreams get his own; that he would watch someone else get his happy ending.

He was totally getting drunk tonight. He deserved it for being a damn good person.

Just to make himself feel better, he closed his set with _History Maker_ because he wanted to and _Yuri on Ice_ was just good, okay? It wasn’t because he was jealous that a cartoon character who was just as much of a disaster as he was got the guy anyway. _Not even close._

…maybe a bit.

Okay, maybe a lot. But it was normal. Honest.

He also didn’t take his time tearing down the keyboard and the mic so that he could wave off his friend’s offers to wait on him. He just wanted time. And a drink. Or as many as Phil would let him have. (Very few was the answer. Phil was a jerk of the highest caliber.)

Clint kept an eye on his friends and waved at them one last time and then dashed over to bar as soon as they were out of eyesight. “Phil, my favoritest bartender ever!” Clint said, forcing joviality into his tone. “I can has drink?”

Phil raised an eyebrow at him and popped the cap off a Yuengling and slid it in front of Clint. “I still don’t know how you prefer bottles to draft,” Phil complained good naturedly. “But uh, I couldn’t help notice you were having a hard time out there.”

Clint copied Phil’s eyebrow raise and took a long drink while he tried to think of how to answer Phil. He felt like he owed the bartender an answer – despite the age difference, they had been good friends for several years. Coulson had been one of first people to see past Clint’s default dumb hick persona and call him out on it. It had earned him a cushy spot in Clint’s inner circle. “I just – I started thinking about my parents. I know it sounds dumb, my dad was a serious piece of work but my mama was great and I just – I dunno. I just let everything get to me all at once.” He stopped and took another long drink until he felt like he could keep going. “And then, to top it all off, I found out I have absolutely zero chance of ever getting Bucky.”

“Barnes? The grumpy one with the leather jacket?” Phil asked with a grin. “I didn’t know that was your type.”

Clint scowled at the green glass. “Yeah. But I’m not his.”

He was left to stew while Phil took care of a few other people milling about at the bar. He came back with two shots of something dark and strong smelling. “You’re a good kid, Clint. If he can’t see that, then he’s not worth it.”

Clint turned his scowl away from the now empty bottle he had been rolling around in his hands up to Phil. “You’re supposed to say shit like that.”

Phil shrugged and passed Clint a shot and kept one for himself. “Here’s to either getting him or getting over him.”

They knocked back their shots together and Clint stood up, feeling no better but needing to just get out and go to sleep to forget about his craptastic luck. “No dice, Coulson. I promised him I’d help him out with his own love life because I’m a sucker.” He didn’t stick around to hear what Phil would come up with to counter that. Instead, he fished a ten out of his pocket and dropped it into the tip jar. Just because he had a tab every time he played didn’t mean he couldn’t tip his favorite bartender – even when he tried too hard to be a stereotype.

There was a cool breeze to help him sober up while he made the short walk back to his dorm room. He kept his nose in his jacket and checked his phone. He hadn’t seen Nat but that was normal – she tended to linger in the shadows like a creeper.

_What did you do this time then?_

_You seem stressed out._

_Clint…_

_You’re being obvious._

Four texts. He must have really been out of it earlier. She normally wouldn’t continue to text him if he didn’t reply, and she sent him four texts without waiting for a reply.

_I know_ , he sent back with a small frown. _But I’ll be fine. It’s not like I’ve got a chance anyway._

She hadn’t replied by the time he got back to his room, or by the time he had showered and changed for bed. But by the time he had curled himself up under his blankets the screen lit up with an incoming message. _Are you sure?_

He didn’t bother answering. He just plugged up his phone and tucked his head under his blanket so he could pretend to be asleep when Sam came back from wherever he had been and he wouldn’t have to talk about what was bothering him. He liked Sam, he _did_ but he really didn’t like being Sam’s test dummy for his new therapy tactics. He just wanted to sleep for a week and pretend none of this was happening.

 


	3. Chapter 3

Bucky checked his phone for the tenth time in as many minutes. Clint had said he needed to pick up something on his way back to the dorm before he would be ready for their guitar lesson. He wasn’t late, but Bucky was worried that something was wrong; he had been quiet and distant over the weekend and neither of those could be words to describe Clint Barton on a normal day.

He picked uselessly at the strings of the acoustic sitting in his lap. Something had happened between Bucky asking Clint to help him learn to play and the end of Clint’s set the other night at SHIELD. _Maybe he figured it out and he’s trying to figure out how to let you down easy,_ he thought viciously to himself, grinding his teeth together as he tried to keep the dark thoughts away. It wasn’t working well.

A knock at his door startled him out of his musings and he hurriedly got to his feet, careful not to trip over anything on his way to the door. In the hallway, Clint stood awkwardly with a box of pizza in his arms and a bandaged hand running through his messy blond hair. “Jesus, what did you do?”

Clint coughed out a laugh. “Would you believe I was trying to rescue a dog from a bunch of dude-bros in tracksuits?”

Bucky tried hard not to laugh, he really did; but that was such a Clint thing to say that he couldn’t help but laugh. “Honestly? Yeah. I totally believe that.”

“Well that’s why I look like I just got my ass handed to me. Cuz I totally did. But the dog!”

Bucky just opened the door wider and ushered Clint to the chair he had set next to his bed so they could get to work. “I know, Clint. The dog.” He could help but smile. Clint looked like hell, but was still as radiant as ever. _You’re too good for your own good, Barton._ “Your hands are a mess. Are you sure you want to do this today? We can always put it on hold.”

“Nope,” Clint said while he reached for the guitar and passed Bucky the pizza in exchange. “We’re gonna do this. I’m as fine as I’ll ever be.” While Bucky munched on a slice of his favorite kind of pizza (pepperoni, sausage, and mushroom – Clint must really pay attention), Clint sat tuning the guitar to the proper key. “Thank god for Stark. He may be a tool and a dick like sixty percent of the time, but he fixed my ears up nice.”

Bucky remembered that. Clint had jumped into a fight to have Tony’s back while he had been jumped by Hammer’s goons after the Science Expo last year. Goon Number Three had clocked Clint in the side of the head while had been pulling Good Number Five off Tony so that Goon Numbers Two and One couldn’t get the upper hand on the Engineering student. It had knocked the aids off Clint’s ears and gotten them crushed during the fight. Tony had felt so bad about it that he had created a new and better working pair of bright purple aids as thanks.

“Sixty is a little low. You’re being generous,” Bucky said with a grin while he watched Clint continue to tune the guitar.

“Eh, I’m feeling generous right now.” He must have gotten the correct key. He set the guitar down and reached over Bucky to grab his own slice of pizza. “So, who are we trying to woo?”

Bucky tried valiantly not to choke on his pizza – and he almost managed it, “I – uh” he stopped and forced the blush back down.

“I get it, man. You don’t have to say anything. You keep your secrets,” Clint said with a wry grin.

Bucky tried valiantly to slow his suddenly racing heartbeat with little to no avail. He could still feel his pulse rabbit under the thin skin at his neck and wrists even after he felt his nerves settle. He knew Clint would drop it if he didn’t volunteer information – it was just how Clint worked with him. “If this doesn’t work, I may just take it to my grave,” he muttered with a small frown.

Clint didn’t seem to notice that he had said anything, since he didn’t stop trying to stuff an entire slice of pizza into his mouth all at once. He flashed Bucky a grease covered grin, his cheeks puffed out comically wide with how much food he had managed to shove into his mouth.

“You’re going to choke.”

“’m not,” Clint argued after he swallowed loudly and awkwardly. “Here, you take this and show me what you know.” Clint pushed the guitar into Bucky’s lap and shuffled though the bag Bucky hadn’t noticed he had brought in with him.

He felt a little put on the spot but did as Clint asked while the blond continued to mutter at his bag as if it had lost whatever he was looking for. While Clint fought with his bag, Bucky wrapped his fingers around the neck of the guitar and strummed one of the few chords he knew from memory. “This sounds wrong. What did you do to it?”

Clint huffed out a laugh. “I tuned it. _Wonderwall_ is in E Minor and you had it tuned to A so it’s a little – _darker_ sounding,” he said after a small ‘ha’ of triumph and a flourish of a slightly crumpled paper. “I took the time to write out the chords for you.”

Bucky scanned the paper and let it fall onto the bed in front of him with a heavy sigh. “This is gonna take forever, man. That looks like complete gibberish to me.”

“I could get into music theory if you really want gibberish. Or, give me half-a-dozen shots and let me go on a rant about Professor Pym’s theories about Particle physics and how he wants to totally go against all ideas of Quantum Theory. _That_ shit is gibberish.”

He didn’t want to admit it, to himself or anyone, but when Clint got going on a rant that no one but Stark or Banner could understand, it turned him on faster than almost anything else. Except his ass. Or his shoulders. Brains. Ass. Shoulders. No, that wasn’t quite right. Ass. Brains. Shoulders. That worked (and it was in alphabetical order). He had priorities.

“I’ll take your word for it. I’ll stick to Literature and call it a day.” Bucky shook his head and took another look at the discarded paper where Clint had taken the time to write in the chords over the lyrics. He saw some arrows over each section of verse and another set over each section marked ‘chorus’ with _88 bpm_ written in Clint’s messy scrawl.

He glared at it and tried to figure out what it all meant. “Help,” he pleaded, pouting. Bucky was man enough to use his most pathetic pout to get what he wanted on the rare occasion that he needed to bring out the big guns.

It worked, Clint’s shoulders fell and he rolled his eyes towards the ceiling, and muttered “give me strength” to the off-white tiles.

“Can you play it once? I’m a visual learner,” Bucky asked, handing the guitar back across the small gap between them.

“I bet you are,” Clint said, low enough that if Bucky hadn’t been watching his lips (like the creeper he was), he would have missed it. “Fine,” he said, louder this time as he took the offered instrument.

Only a minute into the song, Bucky realized he had made a huge mistake. Clint played through the intro silently; but once he got to the first verse he started to sing along, like he couldn’t help it and didn’t realize he was doing so. It was painful to watch. He looked soft and gentle. Regardless of the swelling bruise growing under Clint’s right eye that was turning a great deal of his face a painful purple and the scrapes staining his knuckles red; he looked gentle and kind and soft and sweet.

This was going to be a huge problem.

 

\-----

This wasn’t gonna be a problem. This was gonna be a fricking disaster.

Clint could deal with a lot, he dealt with his dad, his mentor, and his brother all abuse and leave him. He could deal with whatever life threw at him.

Except this.

Clint was _not_ equipped to handle the little frown that pulled Bucky’s full bottom lip down. He couldn’t deal with the heat radiating off Bucky’s body, or how he just smelled so damn good. It wasn’t fair.

What was especially not fair was that he couldn’t do anything about it except make it worse for himself. _I deserve sainthood for this,_ he complained to himself while he focused on the guitar instead of Bucky. He was really not very good at not paying attention to Bucky. Especially when he was playing something he had memorized years ago. Especially when Bucky was studying him so intently.

They had been friends for several years, ever since the first week of Freshman year, but he had very rarely found himself under the laser-like focus of those ever-changing eyes. Now though, now he felt like a bug under a magnifying glass – pinned under intense focus and scrutiny. It was making it hard to pay attention to anything else. He was grateful that he had memorized _Wonderwall_ years ago or he would have made a huge mess of it; as it was, he had to start humming along with the words in a few places because he just _forgot the words_.

_Okay, this looks bad_.

Here he was, supposed to be teaching Bucky how to play a song so he could woo whoever it was that had caught his eye – so what was he doing instead? Failing. He was failing miserably, that’s what he was doing.

“- _and after all, you’re my wonderwall,”_ they sang in tandem. Clint nearly lost the plot again but couldn’t, _couldn’t_ miss this chance to sing with Bucky. So, he put on his metaphorical big-boy pants and forced his tongue to not fail, forced his fingers to keep going through the end so he could hear how they harmonized together.

“Huh, we don’t sound too bad together,” Bucky said once Clint set the guitar down and tried desperately to hide the hot blush trying to fight the bruises for prominence over his nose and cheeks.

“Hey, we sound awesome!” Clint corrected, trying to sound confident and just a little bit cocky at the same time. “But now it’s your turn.”

It was a cop out, yes; but Clint needed to stop failing so much. He was a good teacher but it was becoming difficult to do anything other than try not to crash and burn when Bucky kept looking at him like he was some kind of – of _something_.

It was doing _things_ to his insides, in the general vicinity of his heart. Squishy, warm, fuzzy, _things_ , and it needed to stop. Clint knew he couldn’t have Bucky; he had accepted that fact ages ago when he first started noticing how Bucky would look at Steve when he thought no one was looking. Not that Clint could blame him; Rogers was ripped like a Greek god and as righteous as some kind of avenging angel – it was a compelling mix. He knew where he stood on the scale of hotness, and it was well below the literal embodiment of awesome perfection.

Now, if only his stupid heart could get on board with that information. That would be great. Kthnxbai. _Stupid emotions._

They walked through the chords and where exactly Bucky needed to be keeping his fingers. It meant that Clint had to get up close and personal with Bucky’s personal space without losing his cool or what little bit of pride he had left. It wasn’t much - he had literally lost his pants in front of half the dorm during a fire drill once, so he was intent on keeping the last shred.

But it was so. Damn. Hard.

“Hey, Buck, do you mind if we take a break for the night?” he asked, feeling guilty that he had reached his limit so soon. They had hardly done anything, but he felt every minute he had to be around Bucky and not blurt out his feelings.

“Sure. Do you need anything for your face?” he asked, his head cocked to the side so that his hair fell over half his face. It wasn’t fair – if Clint’s hair got over a few inches long it just looked wrecked all the time (now, for example) but Bucky rocked the long hair.

“I’m fine. I’ve got Excedrin. I’m just kinda beat,” he said, rubbing nervously at the back of his neck. He wasn’t exactly lying, but the headache was a minor annoyance at best and he was no more tired than normal; but he couldn’t, just couldn’t, do more without losing his mind.

 Bucky understood. Of course, Bucky understood. He gave him a small smile and sent him through the bathroom with half of the remaining pizza and the reassurance that they could just go over more later. “It’s no big deal, Clint. This crush isn’t going anywhere.”

_Tell me about it,_ Clint thought miserably as he stuffed another slice of pizza in his mouth and flipped off Sam who about fell out of his bed laughing when he saw Clint’s miserable and bruised up face. “Fuck you very much, Wilson.”

Sam pulled himself upright and hid his bright smile behind his hand. “Need a hand?” he asked.

“No,” Clint pouted and tore into the crust with a vicious bite. “I’ve got it all covered.”

Sam snorted and kept an eye on the bathroom door as if he was waiting for something. “Yeah, sure looks that way,” he said with a small laugh and a wave towards the door just as it closed.

“We all can’t be badass, Sam. Some of us look a little worse for wear after fighting dude-bro’s off a dog,” Clint complained. His roommate was a jerk. He loved him, really; but it didn’t stop him from being a jerk with better luck and more charm than Clint.

Sam shook his head. “I don’t want to know how you always get yourself into those situations. But I was actually talking about RBF Barnes over there.”

Clint felt the color drain out of his face. He was open about his sexuality (in that he didn’t lie about it anymore, and he’d tell someone if they asked), but that didn’t mean that he was open about his hopeless crush on Bucky. “Don’t tell him,” Clint said quickly, a breathless quality to the plea that turned it desperate and slightly terrified. “He’s totally gone on someone and he’s one of my best friends. I can’t- I _can’t_ lose him because I had to go and -” he cut himself off with a harsh shake of his head.

“Woah, man, calm down,” Sam said, using his therapist voice (Clint both loved and hated that voice). “I won’t say anything. But dude, you’ve got the best eyes I’ve ever seen. You can’t tell me you don’t see -” Sam cut himself off with an exasperated shake of his head.

_This suite really had an issue with finishing sentences_ , Clint noted with a brief shake of his head. It would probably solve a lot of problems in all their lives, but they were all mostly failures at communication. It was a problem, but they dealt with it – kinda.

“I’m going to bed. Touch my pizza and I’ll stab you in the eye with an arrow,” Clint threatened as he collapsed backward onto his bed with an arm thrown over his eyes.

“I don’t want Barnes’s nasty-ass pizza,” Sam said on his way to the door. “I’ve got an exam tomorrow that I’ve got to study for and Riley promised me Pho tonight if I actually study.”

Despite himself, Clint felt a smile curl across his lips. “So, I’ll see you sometime tomorrow then?” He could be a dick if he wanted to be. He couldn’t help tease Sam about Riley. No matter what Sam said, everyone knew he was totally gone for his best friend. They had both enlisted in the Air Force at the same time and stayed in contact even after Sam had been medically discharged less than six months after finishing Basic.

It was sweet.

It was also handy to have a roommate who was also a few years older than the rest of the class. It was why they kept together – the four of them, all older than the rest of the youngins they were forced to surround themselves with. Sometimes he felt like they should just make a secret club and be done with it – the Old Queers, they’d be called; it would be great.

Sam flipped Clint off and stumbled over his shoes as if Clint’s teasing caught him off guard. “The day you tell Bucky you’ve been pining over him since you met I’ll run off and sweep Riley off his feet.”

“I’ll hold you to that,” Clint countered, his smile growing. It was nice, being able to forget about his own issues for a minute and focus on Sam’s instead. “Use protection!” he called to the door just as it closed.

 


	4. Chapter 4

-4-

The wind blew Bucky’s hair out of his face while he stomped through the quad, scowl permanently etched onto his face as he cursed his best friend to every level of Hell he could imagine; and as an English Lit major, he knew a lot about Hell. “It’ll be great, Bucky. You’ll have so much fun, Bucky. Don’t leave me alone. I don’t know how to talk to people even though I’m hot like burning now,” Bucky mocked as he stalked down to where the Frat houses were located.

He was a damn adult, he didn’t need to go to some stupid Frat party. Especially, _especially_ Pi Kappa Alpha’s party.

It wasn’t like he had any issues with Fraternities or even any of the Pike boys in particular (though, he was about 85% positive that it was some Pike rejects who had managed to get the upper hand on Clint and messed up his face over a dog); but _damn_ they just – just – there was just something about the whole lot of them that just rubbed Bucky the wrong way.

Bucky knew he didn’t _have_ to go to the party, no one would miss him or even notice that he didn’t show; but it was the principle of the thing. Clint wasn’t going to be around to hang out – some line about needing to get out for a night while looking like someone was holding a gun to his head as he said it – so he was out of options for bailing.

Sometimes it really sucked to be one of the only one’s who didn’t really enjoy partying.

Maybe he had gotten it all out of his system in high school before Steve had grown into his personality and _he_ had been the good-looking one. Not that he was jealous! Steve had been frail and sick but so _, so_ strong – he would never wish that his doctors had finally found a way to treat him so that his immune system was finally allowed to do its job. But sometimes? Sometimes he saw the way people looked at his best friend and he felt a twinge of loneliness in his chest.

Since the motorcycle accident, he had lost of his edginess and now he was just on edge. He didn’t get eyed the way he used to – now it was just side-eyed and whispers. And fuck them. But sometimes, he wished none of it had happened.

Maybe then he wouldn’t be such a coward.

Maybe then he wouldn’t have such a hard time just telling Clint how he felt instead of coming up with a stupid, convoluted, bass-akwards mess to get the archer to hang out with him. They were friends, he should just be able to just say ‘hey Clint, wanna hang out? Maybe make out? Let me hold you until the world ends?’ or something along those lines.

Instead of letting his increasingly dark thoughts cloud his already ruined day, he lightened his steps and tried to hide his scowl in his scarf – at least until he got his face under control.

He could hear the party before he saw it. The ground was literally vibrating with the resounding bass that echoed though the already noisy Saturday night. The Pi Kappa Alpha’s really knew how to throw a good kegger.

It was loud and obnoxious and crowded – everything a good, stereotypical Frat party should be, complete with drunken undergrads waving around red solo cups overflowing with cheap beer. _Perfect_ , he thought grimly to himself with a frown.

The first person to find him was the Norwegian student, Thor, one of the biggest guys Bucky had ever met. He would have been terrifying if it wasn’t for the big, dorky grin and the over-sized green sweater that was trying to drown him. “Barnes!” Thor boomed in greeting. NYU’s Pike Chapter President was always booming – it was his one and only volume; but being named after the god of thunder didn’t allow for quiet voices or small gestures.

Thor wrapped an enormous arm around Bucky’s shoulders and led him through the throng of dancing students who parted like the Red Sea for Moses. “Your friends have been here for hours. They had all assumed you were not going to come.”

The large man continued to talk but Bucky lost the thread of the conversation around the same time he heard the chanting start.

_Barton. Barton. Barton._

Oh, no. That couldn’t be good.

“It looks like they are trying to convince Clinton to serenade us,” Thor said into Bucky’s ear, his entire body pointing towards where Clint was dancing in messy circles with a drink in each hand and a dark-haired girl whispering something in his ear.

Bucky could only watch in abject horror as Clint seemed to nod along with whatever his companion was saying and from somewhere the music came to a screeching halt a fraction of a second later – as if it had been all planned. Bucky noticed the faint scowl Clint tried hard to hide behind his drink.

“Don’t do it if you don’t want to,” Bucky begged, barely above a whisper even though he knew no one, let alone Clint, could hear him. He didn’t know a lot about Clint’s past, he was very tight-lipped about most of it, but he _did_ know that Clint managed to get himself bullied into archery at a young age; even though he had been (and still was) wonderful at it, Bucky could see the resentment it caused. He was loathed to see that face in any capacity.

He needn’t have worried. As soon as Clint was pushed towards where the sound system had been set up and hijacked by a tiny sophomore with a giant yellow raincoat known as Jubilee. She winked and gave Clint a thumb’s up before a familiar-sounding beat started up with enough time for her to shove a microphone into Clint’s hands.

Bucky found he couldn’t look away from Clint’s hips as they swayed from side to side in time with the slightly raunchy beat. The words were only an afterthought until it got to the chorus and the words really came to the forefront.

_Fuck_ , Bucky swore internally. _There is seriously no justice in the world._

_“If you’re horny, let’s do it. Ride it, my pony. My saddle’s waiting. Come and jump on it -_ ”

Bucky could tell that whatever had been bothering Clint was officially off his mind when he managed to make the already salacious lyrics sound far dirtier than he had ever heard them. “Fuck me,” Bucky complained before he was able to sneak away from the display of the literal embodiment of everything Bucky wanted.

The chants followed him into the Pike’s kitchen where the keg stood almost abandoned in favor of the spectacle going on in the common room.

He really didn’t like beer all that much, but it was free and he wasn’t about to turn up his nose at free alcohol. He may be older than most of his classmates, but he was still a mostly-broke college student – he had his limits and his pride couldn’t let him turn away booze when he desperately needed to get rid of the image trying to burn itself into his retinas.

Some time while he was trying to imitate a fish, the chanting had stopped and the sleazy music had been replaced with Jubilee’s more preferred style. It was all secondary to him until a heavy arm slung across his shoulders and the sweet, warm weight the he knew more than he should. “Hey, buddy,” Clint slurred in his ear.

“You’re drunk,” Bucky said dumbly, sounding far less put together than he had earlier in the evening.

Clint hummed in agreement. “I fuckin’ _earned_ it, man,” Clint said as he stole the last of Bucky’s beer with a crooked smile that didn’t quite reach his eyes.

“You okay?” Bucky asked, taking the cup back and refilling it from the keg before he handed it to Clint without a word. Clint shrugged and shook his head lightly. He knew a dismissal when he saw one; for all his awkward feelings towards the blond, he _did_ know when to keep his trap shut and just let him be. “Want some air?” he asked instead.

\----

Clint had always appreciated Bucky’s ability to just know when he needed space. It was what make him extra attractive. They walked out into the cold air and it felt like a relief despite the sharp bite of early winter. It was then that Clint realized his flannel shirt had been lost somewhere in the house behind him and his bare arms were rising with goosebumps. He ignored them in favor of taking a deep breath of sharp air.

There were so many things he wanted to say. He just wanted to unload, but he couldn’t make his mouth work. The words stuck behind his teeth. The stinging feeling of shame when he thought his brother had come to visit him instead of begging him for a bailout; the anxiety over the upcoming final exams; the bubble of excitement over the news from his coach.

Finally, he couldn’t hold out any longer. “Sorry I bailed out on you today. I know we haven’t been able to practice much recently because of finals.” _There. Nice and safe,_ Clint thought to himself with a small shake of his head. “It’s just – Barney is supposed to be my big brother. I wanted to believe he just wanted to see me. I don’t know why I was stupid enough to believe _that_ shit.”

Out of the corner of his eye he saw Bucky reach out to him, hesitating just before they made contact – he wasn’t going to make Bucky touch him, but he really _, really_ could use a hug. “He’s been letting me down for so long, I shouldn’t have gotten my hopes up,” he said into his beer, fighting the sting that was burning behind his eyes.

He squeezed his eyes shut and tried to block out the rest of the world. “He just has to ruin everything I try to build for myself.” He wasn’t even talking to Bucky anymore, the pale gold of the beer a poor substitute for the stormy blue-gray; but he couldn’t take seeing pity aimed his way. He had gotten it enough from the passerby’s who had seen the shouting match he and Barney had gotten into just hours after he had gotten the best news of his life.

The low, swooping feeling in his gut replaced the soaring high from earlier so quickly that he felt dizzy and disoriented even before he started drinking. It was how he managed to get roped into making a fool out of himself by Kate. It was why he was trying to drink himself stupid regardless of the fact that he really hated the feeling that too much alcohol left in his limbs and brain.

“I know I can’t fix it, but if you ever need to talk, I’m all ears,” Bucky said, just as lowly as Clint had been speaking.

“Thanks,” Clint managed to choke out before he managed to get a grip on his emotions and push all thoughts of his brother aside.

Bucky nudged Clint’s shoulder with his own and took back the cup. He tried to ignore the swooping in his gut when their fingers brushed. He tried to ignore the way the he could feel every nerve ending light up from the briefest touch. It was maddening.

_Keep it together, Barton_ , he told himself forcefully, his jaw tightening causing his teeth to clench together painfully.

“So, what was with singing Ginuwine earlier? Thor didn’t seem surprised that they managed to get you to go along with it,” Bucky asked, breaking the silence that had fallen over them despite the heavy thumping bass at their backs.

“Katie-Kate thinks she’s funny when really she’s just manipulative,” Clint complained with a small shrug. “I really don’t mind though, it was fun once Jubilee bullied Kate into letting me pick my own torture.” He didn’t fight small smile that managed to make its way onto his face. It felt good to smile after the rollercoaster of a day he had been through.

After a few beats of silence, Bucky nudged him again. “You sounded good, even if it’s not what I’m used to hearing you cover.”

He was glad the cold and alcohol had already dusted his cheeks and ears pink or the blush that rushed up his neck and settled over his face would be vivid as a firetruck. Instead, he ducked his face into his shoulder and pretended the cold was just wreaking havoc with his skin. “I sound like a frickin’ angel,” Clint countered, trying and failing to sound cocky and confident.

Bucky didn’t rise to the bait but he leveled Clint with a judging look that made his face look downright ridiculous. It did nothing to stop the swooping hoard of butterflies in his gut; if possible, they just got worse.

“So, I got some news today,” Clint said, unable to hold back any longer. He hadn’t even managed to tell Natasha before Barney had started ruining his day and he was _dying_ to tell someone who mattered, someone who would _care_ about Clint’s achievements. “I, uh, got a call from my coach. I’m gonna be in the qualifying rounds for Tokyo starting in January.”

Bucky started a Clint for a long moment before he seemed to understand what Clint was talking about. “Dude, you’re gonna be a fucking Olympian? That’s awesome!”

Clint ducked his head to avoid meeting Bucky’s impressed eyes. “Nah, not yet. I have to qualify and these people didn’t learn to shoot in the circus like I did.”

It was a sore spot in competitions. These rich douche-canoes always looked down their noses at him when his original training was brought up. It was normally burned away the moment he shot circles around them, but it still never failed to make him feel like he was worth less than dirt before. Yeah, his stance was all kinds of wrong and he was just a hair away from being a scruffy-looking nerf herder; but he worked hard for what he had and he really, _really_ hated being judged before people got to know him.

It may be why he latched onto Bucky, Steve, and Sam so quickly.

He could see the excitement on Bucky’s face, the smile pulling at his cheeks mirroring Clint’s own. “Man, you’re awesome and you just downplay everything. You gotta stop with all this self-deprecation shit. Take it from me, you’re awesome and you’re gonna kick so much ass.”

Clint let the compliment warm him and a rush of affection curl around the traitorous organ in his chest that felt a lot deeper than just some stupid crush. If he wasn’t careful, he was going to get crushed.

He didn’t notice that they had ended up a breath apart. He couldn’t focus on anything apart from the roaring of his pulse in his ears, the shimmering lights of the party reflecting off Bucky’s face and eyes, the solid warmth next to him keeping the cold at bay.

In an instant he realized that he had just ruined everything. He didn’t even have enough time to enjoy the fact that he was kissing Bucky before his brain caught up and realized he _was kissing Bucky_. He pulled away quickly and flinched harshly at the confused and shocked expression on Bucky's face. “Shit, I’m sorry, Buck,” he said and stood up quickly, his face flaming with every buzzing emotion welling up in equal measure. “I’m – I’m gonna go,” he stuttered out and tore off through Pike’s and back out the front door before anyone he knew could see him.

His chest was tight and his breathing was coming in quick and shallow gasps. He rested his hands on his knees for a moment before he took off for Natasha’s apartment. She wouldn’t mind if he crashed with her. She may judge silently, but she’d probably let him off with just minimal judgement.

Clint rubbed harshly at his eyes to force the feeling of tears away. “Stupid. Stupid,” he repeated over and over until Natasha opened her door with a scowl. It melted away as soon as she saw him; he must look extra pathetic. “I fucked up.”

 

**Works inspired by this one:**

  * [Anyway, here's wonderwall](https://archiveofourown.org/works/12980715) by [PlaidHunters](https://archiveofourown.org/users/PlaidHunters/pseuds/PlaidHunters)




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